Taking
him home after the shit that went down at the carnival was one of the
hardest things Hardison had ever had to do. Everyone else found their
own way home after he gave them the crazy eyes - too much white around
them - that told the team to back off. Lucille Three carried them into
the darkness, streetlights flooding her intermittently with an unhealthy
yellow glow as they passed overhead, dropping into the blackness again
as she sped off the highway. He didn’t have the strength to argue, if
Eliot said no hospital then they wouldn’t go to a hospital. If Eliot
asked for everything Hardison had, he would gladly give it, every last
scrap. If it made the man happy.

He’d been limping. Fucking
limping! And what did Nate do? Left him to walk alone. Jesus, even the
kid hadn’t done that until the last second. So what if Eliot wouldn’t
take the help? You still fucking offered it. His hands ached where they
gripped the steering wheel. Poor Lucille, she didn’t deserve the
punishment she was getting tonight, but he couldn’t help it. By the time
he got there Eliot was already sucking it up, putting on a face of grim
determination and fury that everyone knew. The face that - oddly enough
- put everyone at ease. Familiar, safe. When he looked like that, they
knew he had everything under control. They knew he wouldn’t let it all
go wrong. The safety net wouldn’t fail them.

Only Hardison knew
now. Only when they were alone did Eliot relax. Speeding past the
hospital with an unconscious hitter in the passenger seat, he risked a
glance. Bruises had blossomed to a sickening purple, blood drying dark
on abused skin, lacerations closing. His eyes were closed now, but
Hardison knew even if he’d tried to open them they wouldn’t have been
more than slits in the puffy, swollen skin of his eyelids. Eliot’s
clothes were torn and dirty, no doubt from where he’d been thrown to the
floor over and again, getting back up every time. When it came down to
it, that was what made him the best. He got back up. He took it and gave
it back twice as hard. Sheer determination mixed with deadly skill and a
frightening level of damaged anger. He would never accept their help,
but you still had to offer.

They had time. Nate wouldn’t book
another job for at least a few days now. Unless something came through
those doors that just couldn’t wait, the mastermind would respect the
crazy eyes and just give them some space. Eliot might only want a couple
of days to recover, but Hardison needed a lot longer to get his
emotions under control. They needed to be cool on the job, and he
couldn’t do that if he wanted to tear Nate a new one. Which was why he
was heading out of Boston. Onto back roads that made him glance
worriedly at Eliot with every bounce, each one dislodging the hitter’s
loose limbs a little more, making his head loll in a way that made
Hardison feel queasy.

The city lights faded in the rear-view
mirror, and Hardison smiled, remembering how he’d disabled Lucille’s GPS
and tossed both their cells to Parker before he’d hopped in. She had
caught them and nodded, no question in her mind about what Hardison
needed to do right then. She was the one he trusted with this, and he
knew she wouldn‘t fail him. He had a single earbud with him for
emergencies, GPS disabled just in case. They were as close to
untraceable as he could make them. Of course, the team had just lost
their two best bets at tracking anyone anyway, so it wasn’t like they
were about to get disturbed.

Eliot would laugh, he hoped. He
would get it, how much they needed to get away from all the bullshit
that was going on between the hitter and Nate right now. Hell, it wasn’t
as if Eliot was up to much more than sipping chicken soup and
milkshakes through a straw at the moment anyway. He thumped the steering
wheel, wondering even as he did it whether Eliot’s aggression was
starting to rub off on him. If someone had told him a couple of months
ago that he’d be leaving civilization and heading to a cabin in the
woods with no phone, no internet - wireless or otherwise - he would have
laughed. He would have told them they were crazy. He would have been
blinded by the happy little glow that he’d always thought hung over
their little team. Blinded even more by the newly fledged relationship
he‘d found with the hitter, the relationship that made him happier than
he‘d ever thought he could be.

This time the wool had been pulled
back from his eyes, and Hardison saw everything with sickening clarity.
Eliot fought in his sleep. At first Hardison had woken to the odd kick
or punch and Eliot sneering in his sleep, occasionally mumbling words
that Hardison couldn’t catch. He knew the tone, though. They were little
things Eliot would say in a fight - “too slow”, “get up”, and he was
careful to keep his distance until the light snores started again.
Luckily sleep slowed him down, the punches or kicks were dulled by the
comforter wrapped around them, and by the sheer fact that Eliot was
unconscious, dreaming.

Hardison hadn’t quite got around to
telling Eliot about the dream-fights. He’d covered up the couple of
bruises and then learned to just avoid the hits as much as he could.
There was no point upsetting Eliot by telling him about it - what was he
going to do about it anyway? Separate beds? He just wanted to have as
much of Eliot as he could get. If that meant curling up in the far
corner of the bed for an hour or two once or twice a week, so he could
still sleep in the same bed with the man - then that was what he’d do.

The
last week he hadn’t been able to avoid Eliot’s deadly hands in the
night. As soon as the hitter was asleep, he was muttering and lashing
out worse than Hardison had ever seen. This time his words were clearer,
though. “Nate, they’re dead” was the first thing he’d been able to make
out for a long time. “Don’t like guns,” and his hands were suddenly
around Hardison’s neck, tight and unyielding. “Don‘t mean I can‘t use
‘em.” He’d been trapped in the circle of Eliot’s vice-like grip,
struggling to breathe but afraid to wake him, trying to peel strong
hands off gently. When the fingers at his throat loosened, he’d sucked
in the deepest breath, rubbing at the tender skin and dashing away the
tears that had gathered on his cheeks.

It was lucky he looked good in a scarf.

Every
night he heard a little more. Eliot re-lived those minutes over and
over. The deaths he’d caused, the lines he’d crossed. Nate had done
this. Put Eliot into a position where he’d had no choice but to take the
lives of those men to protect the team, to protect himself. That was
what it came down to in the end. Eliot didn’t see himself as a part of
the team, he saw himself as their shield. The reason he couldn’t lose a
fight was because he couldn’t protect the team if he was dead. Hardison
had heard it all now, the inner workings of Eliot’s mind, spilling out
over their clean, white sheets. The last few nights Eliot had stopped
fighting, he just muttered. Once, just once, he’d whimpered. Hardison
would never tell anyone about that sound, they couldn’t beat it out of
him, it was the only way he could protect the hitter. The only way he
could give something back was to keep his big mouth shut.

“Where…?” Eliot was awake, his voice was rough and thick, throat swollen so the words could only just squeeze out.

“Somewhere
safe, El. Nearly there.” He glanced over and saw Eliot had already
slumped back down in the seat. Fuck the bumpy dirt road, he pushed down
on the accelerator and they sped into the black night.

~*~

The
cabin was cold and dark when they got there. Hardison reluctantly left
Eliot resting in Lucille while he went inside to switch on the generator
and get a fire going. Yet another thing he’d never thought he’d have to
do. He remembered something about piling up twigs and paper in a sort
of pyramid shape, but the thing kept collapsing and only the paper would
light. In the end he found a can of lighter fluid in the cupboard under
the sink and just squirted it liberally until the wood caught, going up
with a rush of heat that threatened to take off his eyebrows.

The
lights were dim, giving the place a cosy, intimate feel. There was even
a bearskin rug. Not just a thick rug, an honest to goodness bearskin
rug. It wasn’t something Hardison had expected when he bought the place,
that the old owners would be hunters, but there it was in all its
glory. When he looked closer into the little nooks and crannies of the
room he found stuffed birds, mounted fish. They stared at him with dead
eyes, and when he turned to curl into Eliot’s neck to get away from
them, he remembered that the hitter was still sitting in the van, alone.

They
were miles from any kind of civilization, no one would do anything to
Eliot while he slept outside. Still, that didn’t stop him darting for
the cabin door, yanking it open to catch sight of Eliot slowly dragging
himself out of Lucille. Rushing forward, Hardison caught him just as his
injured leg gave way, and Eliot crumpled into his arms. It said
something for how bad it was this time, that Eliot didn’t even try to
shrug him off, just leaned on him and let him carry them both inside.

The
couch was big and soft, but Eliot was in no state to stay up any
longer. Hardison got him across the big main room and into the bedroom,
thankful that he’d remembered to hire a cleaner to sort out clean linens
for him. Eliot’s left arm was slung over his shoulder, his own right
arm wrapped around Eliot’s waist. He used his free hand to pull back the
covers and helped Eliot to sit on the edge of the bed. The boots came
off easily enough and the shirt was practically in tatters anyway, but
he had a hard time with the jeans, getting Eliot to lift up enough that
he could tug them down. Eventually he had the hitter wrapped up in the
comforter wearing only his boxer-briefs.

As Eliot’s eyes closed
and his head lolled against the pillow, Hardison went to grab a first
aid kit out of the bathroom. He knew how heavily the hitter would sleep
tonight, and he set to work cleaning and disinfecting the worst of the
cuts, dressing them as best he could. He sat back once he’d done the
job, and watched the hitter sleep for a while, hoping that for once his
sleep would be dream free.

When he eventually came to bed, Hardison slept wrapped around Eliot, and the hitter didn‘t move all night.

~*~Eliot

~*~

Waking
up the morning after a fight like that always left him drained and
nauseous. There was no point forcing down food, as much as his body
might need the nutrients. He knew from past experience that it wouldn’t
stay down for long. The other side of the bed was empty, but still warm
from someone’s body. He hoped it was Hardison, but without knowing where
he was, he couldn’t be entirely sure.

The sheets were soft and
clean, but the bed was a little softer than his or Hardison’s. The room
was small and the walls were varnished wood. Through swollen eyelids he
peered around the room, checking for escape routes, noting the locations
of possible weapons. He caught sight of Hardison’s asthma inhaler on
the bedside cabinet and fell back on the pillows, letting out a deeply
relieved breath.

His hands felt strange. Lifting them shakily, he
saw the gauze and tape wrapped around his smashed up knuckles. Muscles
aching and stiff, he sat up in the bed, wincing as he put weight on his
hands to lift himself up. Now that he was coming to a little more, he
began to remember their late night journey here, but he’d been too out
of it to keep track of where they were going. If he’d been with anyone
else he’d have forced himself to stay awake, memorizing the route they
were taking, noticing landmarks, tense until he knew their destination.
With Hardison he’d learned to let his defences drop a little. Not much,
just enough to let them have a relationship. Just enough to begin to
trust. Forget the fighting, the violence, that stuff was easy. Compared
to learning to trust, that stuff was a cake walk.

Muffled
clanking sounds came from beyond the wooden door of the room. He
wondered whether Hardison was actually going to attempt to make
breakfast. He’d have to get out there quickly and tell him not to
bother, nothing was passing Eliot’s lips this morning except water, his
body couldn’t handle anything for a few hours at least. Swinging his
legs to the edge of the bed was easy enough, but standing proved a
little harder.

His left leg gave at the knee when he tried to put
weight on it, and he remembered Roper’s foot impacting with it, the
snapping sound he hoped he hadn’t heard. He sat back in the bed and felt
over the bones in the knee. Nothing seemed to be broken, but his
kneecap was loose, bulging on one side. It wasn’t the first time it had
happened. He took a deep breath, placed the heel of his hand against it
and braced his knee with the other hand, shoving with controlled force
until he felt it ease back into place. The pain was excruciating, and
for a second he felt the world darken, bile rising in his throat as his
head swam.

Panting through the pain, he felt the dizziness recede
as the bedroom door opened. Hardison was there, tall body folding so he
could duck under the low doorframe and hurry over to Eliot. He sunk to
the floor in front of Eliot and looked up at him radiating concern. Big,
dark hands hovered over his body, not quite resting anywhere until
Eliot took them in his own and brought them to his lips.

“You didn’t have to…” He gestured at the room and Hardison’s hands rested gently on his thighs.

“Yeah,
El. Yeah I did.” One hand wrapped up in Eliot’s hair and brought him
down, Hardison’s lips warm against his forehead for a second.

Quickly
Hardison was up, and Eliot envied his ease of motion. He ducked out of
the door and came back a moment later carrying a tray. Eliot was about
to protest, he couldn’t eat, why didn’t Hardison know that by now?
Hardison smiled at him and he couldn’t bring himself to say anything,
he’d try and swallow a few mouthfuls. But as the tray came down to rest
on the bedside cabinet, he realized he’d under-estimated Hardison. The
tray was covered in supplies, anti-inflammatory gel, anti-bacterial
wipes, ice packs, bandages, a jug of ice-water and a pack of large
Band-Aids. He grinned a lop-sided smirk and reached for an ice pack,
holding it lightly on his damaged knee and closing his eyes as the
blessed cold seeped through his swollen, hot skin, cooling and soothing
him. Numbing the pain.

~*~

The first day was
hard, but the second day was worse in a way. His body stiffened up,
although the visible swelling began to fade. His bruises darkened and
took on a green hue, cuts and scrapes looking a little better, but he
could barely move the knee. Hardison disappeared for a few hours and
came back with a knee support for him that helped a little. He wouldn’t
be swaggering for a while, but he could at least walk around the little
cabin. He was thankful that there were no stairs, though.

Once he
was able to get around on his own, he took a look around the cabin. The
place was small, but well furnished and built with a loving attention
to detail. Even if there were far too many dead animals all around the
walls. He took a closer look at the rug in front of the fire, it was a
real bearskin. He didn’t have a problem with killing for survival,
sometimes it was you or the animal, but this was just not his scene at
all.

“Where did you find this place?” He asked as Hardison came
back into the living area from the kitchen, carrying two mugs of hot
chocolate.

“Nana has some friends that lived out near here, I
visit every now and then, and they knew the person who was selling this
place. I paid in cash, kept it off the radar as much as I could. Knew
one day it would come in handy.”

Eliot took the offered mug and sat slowly on the big, comfortable couch. “I guess it did.”

They
sat in silence for a while, drinking the milky chocolate, both avoiding
the real reason why they were there. Eliot had gone back on the job
after worse injuries than this. He knew that if he got his head back in
the game he could be ready for the next con as early as the next day,
but being cloistered away like this let him stop and recover in a way
that he wouldn’t normally allow.

Once the chocolate was gone, the
silence in the room turned into something awkward, and he could feel
the distance that Hardison was keeping between them. Hardison wasn’t
used to inactivity, he needed something to do, some distraction. Eliot
would give him that, even in the middle of nowhere, no technology to
keep them busy.

“C’mere.” He reached over and pulled Hardison
across the couch, wrapping his arms around the bigger man, cradling him
across his lap.

“Dammit,
Hardison! Shut up.” He growled, pulling Hardison up into a rough kiss.
Soft, warm lips parted and he felt Hardison give in to the love that was
between them. Whatever depressing thoughts Hardison had been nursing
since Eliot had dragged himself out of that house of mirrors, he was
determined to erase them all.

Hardison’s fingers were light on
his skin. His own were digging into the hacker’s waist and shoulder hard
enough to leave marks, forcing Hardison to forget that Eliot was
injured. He licked inside Hardison’s mouth, eagerly chasing the last of
the chocolate taste from the hacker’s tongue. It wasn’t enough, though.
Hardison was still holding back. While he would normally be grabbing at
Eliot’s clothes, desperate to feel skin on skin, now he was just gently
submitting to Eliot’s kiss.

Eliot pulled back long enough to say,
“I’m not gonna break, dumbass,” before latching onto Hardison’s throat,
sucking and biting at the skin there, knowing it drove the man wild.
Hardison moaned under his lips and Eliot smiled, pulling the hacker up
so he was straddling Eliot’s hips. His hands fit perfectly over the
curve of Hardison’s ass. He rested there, face buried in Hardison’s
neck, breathing in the scent of home.

For a moment he thought
Hardison was going to just let him snuggle there, nose pressed against
the soft, warm skin of his throat. Hardison had other ideas. He moved
his hips in small, slow thrusts against Eliot’s own, hands slipping down
to tug at the hem of Eliot’s t-shirt. Eliot lifted his hands and drew
back, letting Hardison pull the shirt over his head, hoping that the
ugly bruising that marked his skin wouldn’t put him off. He couldn’t
tell if Hardison was ignoring the marks or if he just didn’t see them,
but nothing changed. Long fingers kept on removing his clothing, undoing
his fly and tugging down his underwear to delve inside.

Eliot
gasped as Hardison took hold of him, wrapping a firm grip around his
cock and jerking him slowly as Eliot lay back against the couch, eyes
closed. Hardison’s tongue licked a trail from the base of his throat up
to just under his ear, and the hot breath ghosting over the shell of his
ear made him groan and buck up into Hardison’s hand. The hacker was
grinning, Eliot could feel it against his skin. Before he had time to
figure out why, Hardison was whispering in his ear, “Can’t wait ‘til you
get better, El. Soon as you can do it, I want you to fuck me.” Eliot
gasped again and Hardison just continued, one hand wrapped around
Eliot’s cock and the pressure of his hips behind it, keeping a tight
grip on him just the way he liked it. “You’re gonna bend me over, make
me beg for it. Gonna fuck me so hard, so fucking hard I’ll be feeling it
for days. Ain’t that right?”

“God, Hardison!” The hacker was
still grinning but Eliot was determined to make this last, “Wait, slow
down.” Hardison pulled back and Eliot fixed him with a glare, “Want you
to ride me.”

Hardison’s grin faltered, “You sure?”

He
nodded, growling “Yeah.” Hardison grinned and gave him a quick, sloppy
kiss on the lips, before leaping off Eliot’s lap. Quickly, he was back,
completely naked, lube in one hand and a condom in the other. Eliot
huffed out a laugh and shucked down his jeans, hissing as they slid over
his injured knee, and taking a moment for the pain to recede. When he
was ready, he slipped on the condom and patted his thigh in invitation.
Hardison crawled across him until he was on hands and knees over Eliot’s
lap.

The lube was cold on his fingers, he waited a few seconds
for it to warm before reaching down to gently stroke over Hardison’s
hole. He felt the muscles relax as Hardison took a breath, and let one
finger slip inside, easing it in slowly and twisting with each little
push. Hardison’s breathing quickened and Eliot felt himself harden even
more, the tight heat around his finger reminding him of where he was
going to be in just a few minutes. A little more lube, another finger,
and Hardison was panting and pushing back against Eliot’s hand, eyes
closed and lips bitten between his teeth. This time it was Eliot’s turn
to grin, a third finger stretched Hardison enough that it wouldn’t be
too painful for him. A quick slick of lube over his own painfully erect
cock, and they were good to go.

As his fingers left the hacker
pushing back into thin air, he gave a little slap across Hardison’s ass
cheeks, a signal to jump up and get on with it. Quickly, Hardison was in
his lap and Eliot lined up, pushing up a little as Hardison eased down
onto him, so that within a moment he was buried deep inside and
relinquishing control as Hardison began to move.

At first
Hardison’s movements were small and guarded, gaze fixed on Eliot’s face
for any sign that this was aggravating his injuries. Eliot simply smiled
and grabbed him by the hips, thrusting up and pulling down at the same
time, forcing Hardison into a faster, harder rhythm. Eliot’s smile
widened and he let his hands travel up along his lover’s body, mapping
out the dark contours of slim muscle, occasionally stopping to tease a
nipple or brush lightly against Hardison’s own erect cock.

Eliot’s
heart was racing, his lips were locked on Hardison’s throat as he
reached down to finally take hold of Hardison‘s erection, stroking him
firmly just the way he knew how. He felt his own orgasm building too
quickly, but Hardison was crying out blissfully above him, writhing on
Eliot’s cock, and there was no way he was going to slow this down now.
He let his thumb slip over the head of Hardison’s cock, twisting his
wrist a little on each upward stroke. Hardison shuddered above him, body
trembling even as he rode down hard on Eliot’s cock, muscles fluttering
a signal to Eliot that his lover was about to come.

“Come on,
baby, come,” he grunted in Hardison’s ear, and pulled back to watch as
Hardison moaned and painted his stomach with thick, white splashes of
come. He wasn’t far behind, but Hardison was spent, on top of him. Hands
sliding back around to the hacker’s hips, he held on tight and thrust
up until he was nearly ready.

“Baby, will you…?” He didn’t need
to finish the sentence, they each knew the other’s favorite things, and
Eliot knew that Hardison would be on his knees in seconds. The condom
landed with a sticky plop on the wooden floor and Hardison’s hot, wet
mouth slid around just the head of his cock. His hand wrapped around to
jerk Eliot quick and hard, mouth sucking and tongue flicking over the
sensitive head until Eliot felt like he was going to explode. The
pleasure building to an intense rush that left him dizzy, pumping spurt
after spurt into Hardison’s mouth, hands clawed in the couch cushions
until he was spent.

By the time Eliot got his breathing under
control, Hardison was crawling back onto the couch, laying with his head
in Eliot’s lap, a satisfied smile on his face. He reached over to lace
his fingers with Hardison’s, neither of them needing to say a word,
content to just be together.

~*~Hardison

~*~

“Dammit,
Hardison! I can carry my own bags.” The hitter’s expression was a
warning that Hardison could choose to ignore, but it was best for his
own health if he didn’t.

They were leaving a little earlier than
he’d originally planned. Turned out it was hard to keep Eliot from
getting bored and restless once he felt he’d healed up enough to get on
with another job. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss civilization
himself, could almost hear his online avatars crying out with neglect.
Not to mention the serious lack of orange soda in the cabin.

“Says
the man who’s been letting me carry his sorry ass for days.” Hardison
wondered whether maybe he had some kind of death wish. Sometimes things
slipped out of his mouth before he really thought them through.

Eliot’s
expression would have had anyone else running for the hills, but
Hardison saw the glint of amusement in sharp, blue eyes and grinned,
swinging up into the driver’s seat of his beloved van as Eliot buckled
himself into the passenger seat. “Did you miss me, sweetheart?” He
paused and pretended to listen to her, “You did? Oh baby, let’s get you
home. We got a long drive, but you’ll see, it’s gonna fly by.”

Hardison’s
hand rested on Eliot’s thigh, and although the hitter was looking out
of the passenger side window, his hand slid down to rest lightly on top,
and stayed there.